


so quite a new thing

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 17:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt claims that the best time for yoga is right after Sunday morning sex. Blaine's not complaining, even if it means missing out on cuddles, because this brand of yoga is done without clothing. And Blaine gets to watch. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so quite a new thing

For Blaine, Sunday mornings are good for two things: sleepy sex and lazing around after said sleepy sex. Kurt, on the other hand, claims that there is no better time than after Sunday Morning Sex for yoga. Apparently orgasms put him in the perfect mindset for bending his body into strange shapes. Blaine can’t really relate, since sex makes him boneless and sated in a way that discourages moving ever again. Maybe he should mind this difference in opinion, because it means being robbed of his post-Sunday Morning Sex cuddles, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Because Kurt’s special brand of Sunday morning yoga does not involve clothing. And Blaine, still dopey and heavy-limbed from the sex, gets to watch his entire routine from the warmth of their bed.

He watches as Kurt slips from his arms, the muscles in his back rippling as he stands and stretches his arms toward the ceiling. He watches the long line of his body and the way the sun from the windows plays against it as Kurt pads across their room to retrieve his yoga mat. He watches the way Kurt’s hair, all mussed up from sleep and Blaine’s fingers, falls into his eyes as he touches his toes. He watches as Kurt bends over, stares unashamedly at his perfect, perfect ass - always in view, since Kurt’s fully aware of Blaine’s role in this routine.

For a time, Blaine’s content to just watch, as sunlight dapples his skin and his muscles pull taut and relax with each new position. He follows the line of Kurt’s neck as Kurt hangs his head between his arms, tucked close to the mat, and wishes that he could trace it with his tongue. He watches the sinful length of Kurt’s legs stretching out, spreading like they did earlier for Blaine; he smiles at the flex of Kurt’s toes, so reminiscent of the way they curl when he’s close.

Kurt leans forward between his spread legs, face a lot closer to the mat than Blaine - who is, thanks to their fantastic sex, perfectly pliable when he wants to be - can get on the rare occasion that Kurt convinces Blaine to do yoga with him. The position draws attention to the curve of his spine and the shallow dimples at the base of it. Blaine wants to drag his hands down Kurt’s back and feel the muscles shift before digging his fingers into those dimples. And god, he wants to press against Kurt’s ass, knead the flesh and maybe bring his hand down hard, just to watch the skin turn red and hear the broken noises that Kurt only ever makes when he does that.

Blaine could move, could go over to Kurt and do everything he wants to, but he’s not finished watching. Instead, he wraps a lazy fist around his half-hard cock and strokes it slowly. Kurt notices as he shifts into a different position, and he raises an eyebrow, smirking a little, but doesn’t say anything.

And so it continues, as it does every other Sunday: Kurt twists his gorgeous body and Blaine drools over it while slowly jerking himself off. Usually, Blaine manages to hold off until Kurt finishes, at which point he drags him to the shower. And maybe this time he’ll wait, too, but there’s a tension foreign to Sunday mornings in the air. Blaine’s hips and breath are starting to hitch. He can’t tear his eyes away from the curve of Kurt’s ass, not even when Kurt goes into tree pose and his arms stretch about his head, biceps flexing, thighs quivering.

Somewhere during his routine, come has trickled from the cleft of Kurt’s ass to sit just at the top of his thigh.

Fuck yoga. Blaine wants to taste, to bite and mouth at Kurt’s skin, to drape himself over his back and fuck him again, this time into the yoga mat. Before he can reconsider, he lets go of his cock and stands, crosses the distance between them.

Kurt startles as Blaine wraps his hands around Kurt’s hips, digging his fingers into the bone, but he doesn’t fall out of his pose. Encouraged, Blaine drops to his knees and nuzzles at Kurt’s ass, dragging his mouth across the crease where cheek meets thigh. He licks at the line of come, which has dried, and follows it back between his cheeks, back to his still stretched hole.

Finally, Kurt stumbles. His arms and foot drop, one hand coming down to clutch at Blaine’s shoulder in an effort to stay upright. He digs his fingers into Blaine’s skin as Blaine licks into him, and moans, the sound shaky and surprised, when Blaine adds two fingers.

“Blaine,” he says, breathy and pitching up at the end of Blaine’s name. “Blaine, you’re interrupting my -” Blaine crooks his fingers and he cuts himself off with a whimper, exhales harshly through his nose, continues, “my...routine.”

Blaine pulls his mouth away. “This is better than yoga,” he says, voice a little gravelly from arousal, and punctuates his statement with another crook of his fingers.

Kurt jerks. “I, oh, believe you.” he says, the “you” coming out as a whine. “Blaine, I can’t -” His knees are trembling, threatening to give out, so Blaine pulls back. Kurt sinks to his knees and Blaine plasters himself along his back, slips his fingers back to his ass and drags them along the rim before pressing in, slow. He takes advantage of the new position to suck a kiss on Kurt’s shoulder, dragging his teeth up his neck to his ear.  
Kurt shifts back against him. His head falls back onto Blaine’s shoulder, face turned into his neck, breath coming out in little puffs. “Please,” he asks, rolling his hips to meet the movement of Blaine’s fingers.  
“Please what?” Blaine asks. He stops completely and pulls his fingers out, rests them instead on Kurt’s hip. Kurt shoves back against him, ass rubbing right up against Blaine’s aching cock, causing Blaine’s hips to stutter forward and his hand to grip tighter at Kurt’s skin.

“Fuck me,” Kurt grits out, arching his ass back. Blaine groans, stomach flooding with heat, and pushes at the small of his back. Kurt drops onto the yoga mat, face pressed sideways into it and ass angled up, asking for it. It’s such a change from the power he exhibited earlier, the kind that always makes Blaine want Kurt to fuck him against a wall or ride him into the mattress, but this rawness, this control, is still so good. No matter what they do or how they do it, they’re still them.

Blaine rolls away and comes back with the lube after some frustrated searching, aching to be inside Kurt already, to feel his ass gripping hot around his cock. He kneels down behind Kurt, who hasn’t really moved, and drizzles lube across his fingers. Kurt’s ass is still stretched from earlier, but Blaine still only starts with two, mostly so Kurt makes the desperate noise he does and shoves back against his fingers.

Blaine,” he says, voice tight. “You interrupted yoga. You owe it to me to fuck me." 

“Okay,” Blaine agrees as his abdomen ignites at the words and the wrecked tone of Kurt’s voice. He pulls his fingers out and coats his cock with lube, guiding it to Kurt’s hole. He doesn’t tease, but goes slowly, aware of the less than usual amount of prep.

Kurt moans and shifts, arching his back and spreading his legs further for Blaine, who clenches his teeth against the urge to snap his hips forward immediately in response to the maddening pressure around his cock. He waits until he bottoms out, draping himself forward over Kurt’s back and pushing him flat onto his stomach, before pulling out and thrusting back in, fast and sharp.

Beneath him, Kurt’s falling apart. He’s alternating between shoving his hips back against Blaine and down against the mat, arching his ass up and fisting his hands uselessly against the floor. His breath is stuttering, each inhale making a tiny noise in sync with Blaine’s thrusts.

Blaine revels in the feel of being stretched out above Kurt, their skin hot wherever it touches. It’s nothing in comparison to the burning in his stomach as it tightens with every thrust into the heat of Kurt’s body, He’s losing his rhythm, arms trembling where they’re braced on either side of Kurt, head dropping to mouth along his shoulder.

Everything’s coiling tighter and tighter, his hips moving fast, rhythm sloppy. Blaine can feel the drum of Kurt’s heartbeat - or is it his own? Everything’s heightened, wonderful, blurred together, no end or beginning to either of their bodies, all focus on the drag of Kurt’s ass around Blaine’s cock, the sound of Kurt’s moans increasing in pitch. 

“Kurt,” Blaine whines, burying his nose in Kurt’s neck, inhaling the smell of sweat and sex and boy. He moves his hands to Kurt’s hips and gets up on his knees, tilting Kurt’s ass upward and changing the angle.

“Fuck, fuck, Blaine, there, god,” Kurt says, words running together as he gets closer, hands scrabbling for purchase against the hardwood floor. Blaine’s arms start to tremble, his entire body drawing up tight. Kurt spreads his legs out and clenches around him and he’s done, jerking one, two, three more times - and everything snaps, releases, as he stills, cock twitching, coming deep in Kurt’s ass for the second time that morning.

Kurt has dissolved into making fast little whimpers. He shoves back against Blaine’s cock and forward into the mat, jolting Blaine out of his post-orgasmic haze. He reaches down, wraps a hand around Kurt’s cock - and Kurt comes, trembling and shivering through the aftershocks until, finally, he stills.

Blaine, winded, lifts his head. “Better than yoga?” he asks, rolling off of Kurt to lay next to him.

Kurt picks his own head up. His face is red, hair mussed, pupils blown. “Yes,” he agrees, and shifts, grimacing. “But messier. Oh,” he says, horror dawning. “My yoga mat is filthy.”

Blaine chuckles and lifts his hand. He strokes down Kurt’s body, towards his thighs, where some of Blaine’s come has trickled out. “You’re filthy,” he says. Kurt groans at the corniness and then at Blaine petting over his ass.

“No,” he says, rolling onto his side to escape the wet spot. “No, two rounds is enough for my poor ass.”

Blaine pouts. “Shower, then?” he suggests. Because, really, they are filthy, and sweaty, and they haven’t even brushed their teeth yet. And maybe Kurt’s ass is tired out, but Blaine’s isn’t, and the shower is the perfect place to test out his fantasy about Kurt’s arms.

“Yes,” Kurt agrees, but he doesn’t move, instead dropping his head onto his arm. “As soon as I can move.”

“Mm,” Blaine says. He scoots closer and presses his lips to Kurt’s, the kiss soft and sweet. They’ll both move eventually, when the stickiness moves from typical post-sex carnage to straight-up uncomfortable. In the meantime, Blaine’s content to lay on this filthy yoga mat and breathe in the smell of Kurt, and Sunday morning.

**Author's Note:**

> it just figures that my first fic in ages would be porn!   
> that being said, this is not my forte, so I would definitely appreciate concrit.  
> thanks for reading!


End file.
